


the start is the hardest part

by zauberer_sirin



Series: makeouts are mandatory [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, F/M, Future Fic, Introspection, POV Alternating, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9981734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Written for the Cousy Kisses Drabble-a-thon. Prompt: "drunk kisses"





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Persiflage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/gifts).



“Wait, wait, I think I can do better, give me one more try.”

She holds his face in her hands, very straight, concentrating.

Coulson has a nice buzzing sound in his head, like tiny people were humming a song there. And he didn’t say she couldn’t have another try; as far as he is concerned she can have as many tries as she wants, even if the first time she slid her mouth against his in such a hesitant and clumsy fashion that she ended up kissing his chin more than his lips. He’s okay with that. Daisy’s seriousness makes him want to laugh, but he knows she’ll think he was laughing at her and we can’t have that, not with Daisy.

“Mmm, stay still.”

Everything else is spinning so she guesses this is trick.

If only Coulson could stop moving.

Where were they? Ah, yes, after a stupid party. Engagement? Mack and Elena or Fitz and - no, Fitz and Simmons are already… maybe it wasn’t an engagement, maybe it was just a regular dumb party but everywhere she looked Daisy found people kissing and caressing and being couple-y. Which was fine. Daisy loved that they were happy but…

She sighs.

Coulson remembers her saying she was lonely. Or maybe she didn’t say it - maybe he just looked at her looking at everybody, he looked at her in her soft blue dress and he thought “she looks lonely”.

She presses her forehead against his forehead. It’s warm and slippery with a bit of sweat. Coulson can smell all the scotch on her breath. It’s a nice smell. He feels like drinking another glass.

“I think we might be too drunk for this,” Daisy declares, very seriously.

Coulson grabs her with loose fingers, touch dropping from her bare arms to her hips. He nods.

“You might be right.”

She makes a swaying motion and lets gravity help get her mouth on Coulson’s mouth again. It’s awkwardly angled again, but Coulson helps correct it, he opens his mouth wide and kisses back, lots of tongue, lots of saliva. Daisy brings her hands to his chest, it’s quiet beat like inside he’s unfazed by all this. She sighs around his tongue. This is nice.

 

+

 

Her lips are dry and his head no longer buzzes humming a nice song. Morning is miserable and neither of them have touched the orange juice he poured for both. Food is out of the question. He swears he has more lines around his eyes today than yesterday (and Daisy has more dark under hers). But still, when she reaches for him across the kitchen counter and presses her mouth to his Coulson doesn’t feel the heaviness of hangover mornings at all.

They have many reasons not to do this, to write last night off as a mistake, no, as just one of those things, nothing important. Daisy is scared of those reasons: their relationship is too close, their relationship is not close enough, their relationship is different, it’s “not like that”, they’re like family maybe, they work together, they might day at any moment (plus her own reasons; she’s a freak, she doesn’t deserve him, he might end up hating her, he might leave her, he might die). She should be cautious, let it go and lie low, avoid him for a couple of days, casually so it doesn’t feel like she’s avoiding him. Instead: this, she’s kissing him again.

For a moment there Coulson was sure Daisy was going to let the thing go, pretend last night never happened. It’s one of those things, he knows. They’re close friends, more than that, even. Things were bound to get confusing at one time or the other. She was lonely (he was too, but he’s not admitting that) and they were drunk and it was the most natural thing in the world. As long as they agreed to forget all about it.

Coulson admits he was feeling a tiny pang of pain walking into the kitchen this morning and seeing Daisy there and knowing she was going to tell him they should act like she never grabbed his face and kissed him for about fifteen minutes, just hours ago. 

But that didn’t happen.

Instead: Daisy has been kissing him again for a while now and Coulson has his fingers curled around the edge of the counter, grounding himself, feeling lightheaded but not with hangover.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy says when she pulls back, touching his face a bit like she did last night.

“Why?”

“I hate the idea that last night was how we started,” she says.

And as much as Coulson finds the memory of last night’s drunken kisses endearing and embarrassing and hot all at the same time and he wouldn’t ever want to let go of it he also understands why it feels like a mistake to Daisy, why she wanted something better or more momentous or… anything, anything that would reassure her that she could have this, that this wasn’t going to be taken away from her. Coulson doesn’t quite understand why someone like Daisy would want him, or want to keep him, but that doesn’t matter right now either.

“Last night?” he says. “I can’t really remember last night. This is the first one, as far as I’m concerned.”

Daisy knows he’s pretending, but it matters precisely _because_ he is pretending.

She smiles. “Yeah?” she asks.

Coulson feels strangely calm and confident - more than he’s felt in years - as he takes her hand and pulls her closer and says “This is where we start”.


End file.
